


Bullets and Claws

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, M/M, Werewolves, semi-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Hales open a bookshop next to the Silver Bullet coffee shop, Stiles notices his new boss Mr Argent seems to have a history with them. It’s the only reason he tries to find out more about their family. It has absolutely nothing to do with how attractive that grouchy Derek looks. Nope, nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullets and Claws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pyjamagurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyjamagurl/gifts).



> Written for Pyjamagurl for the [TW Holidays exchange](http://tw-holidays.livejournal.com/) (originally posted [on LJ](http://tw-holidays.livejournal.com/11119.html)).  
> Huge thanks to akadougal for the beta.

Lydia is a more terrifying boss than Stiles could have ever imagined. Okay, technically she isn’t his boss, she’s just another employee at the Silver Bullet coffee shop, but she’s been working here for two years now, so Mr Argent’s appointed the task of supervising Stiles to her.

She shows him how to work the coffee machine, listing all the different dosages for the different drinks, then watches him like a hawk as he tries to make a double espresso macchiato. She tastes it, judges it “passable”, then hands him a small booklet, telling him he’ll be clearing up tables until he can recite its content by heart. Allison gives him a sympathetic look from behind the cash register.

The Silver Bullet is a very popular place. Not only because it’s situated at the center of the Beacon Hills Great Mall, but because it offers a variety of European style coffees and other hot beverages of top notch quality. Also, a lot of teenage boys tend to stop by just to get a smile from the pretty baristas, though no one would ever dare to say that in front of Mr Argent. Especially since one of said pretty baristas is his daughter.

So it’s popular. Of course that means there are rush hours, during which Stiles scrambles to clean the tables, keep the pastry trays full, bring back milk and caramel sauce and chocolate from the back shop when Lydia barks at him they’re running short, load and unload the dishwasher, in short do all the little menial tasks so the girls can keep on serving clients without a hitch. 

Mr Argent usually shows up at these times and helps Lydia behind the coffee machine so they can get everything done in a timely manner. Stiles knows one of the reasons he’s been hired is so _he_ can be the one helping Lydia, because Mr Argent is planning on opening a second shop downtown, so he needs to have this place up and running without him. No pressure at all.

But the thing about rush hours? They don’t last forever. Things start to calm down after 3 pm, and Stiles finally has the time to dig up the booklet from his pocket and go through it. The list of drinks is daunting in itself, especially since Stiles isn’t a big coffee drinker (caffeine only makes his ADD worse), but if you add to it that he has to know the exact composition of every type of sandwiches they sell and what exactly is each type of pastry, and on which drink you add which type of chocolate sprinkles, Stiles wonders how the hell he’s going to remember all that.

He’s leaning against the counter, trying to commit to memory the list of cup sizes to use, but his eyes keep wandering at the other shops around him. From here he can catch a glimpse of the comic books store window, and he checks the time on his watch to see how long he still has to wait until his break. 

“Stiles!”

Stiles startles and looks at Lydia, who tells him to get his ass behind the counter with a simple but effective head-tilt. He slips past Allison, who’s taking an order from a gorgeous but grumpy-looking dude in a leather jacket, and joins Lydia by the coffee maker.

“You’re going to make the coffees for this nice gentleman, and I’m going to make sure you don’t screw up,” Lydia tells him. “ _And_ that it doesn’t take you forever to do it, because we don’t keep our customers waiting, now, do we?”

“I’m in no hurry,” Mr Grumpy says, voice rough and eyebrows down in a frown. “Just make sure you don’t forget the _sprinkles_.” 

The way he says that last word, it’s like it physically hurts him to pronounce it. Stiles would laugh, except the guy seems to have a lot of muscle under that leather jacket and Stiles does have _some_ survival instinct. Also, did he mention how hot that guy looked?

“A triple espresso, a small cappuccino and a medium Chocolate Bullet, to go,” Allison informs them as she hands Tall, Dark and Brooding his change and a receipt.

Stiles looks at the paper cups piled up on top of the coffee maker and hesitantly selects three. Lydia takes one back and gives him a bigger one.

“The whipped cream takes up space,” she informs him. “Now hurry up a bit. Start with the espresso shots, then heat up the milk.”

Stiles tries to remember all the things Lydia showed him earlier as he works the coffee machine, and watches the dark liquid fill the cups. Meanwhile, Lydia’s filled two metal cups with milk from the fridge.

“Two?” Stiles asks as he puts the second cup in place and fills the handle with just one dose.

“Yes, Stiles, two. Cappuccino requires steamed-milk foam and the Bullet is made based on a latte macchiato, which means...?”

“Same as the cappuccino, but with regular hot milk?” The Chocolate Bullet was the specialty of the Silver Bullet Coffee Shop.

“See, you’re learning,” Lydia preens, as if it were all of her doing. “You can already put the chocolate powder in the other cup for the Bullet, then we’ll pour the espresso shots on it. Now make the foam.”

Stiles does as he’s told, and soon he’s pouring the steamed-milk foam on top of the espresso shot while coffee mixes up with chocolate in another cup. Then he adds warm milk to the chocolated coffee, stirs, gets the whipped cream to spray on top and finally adds the sprinkles. Lydia makes an approving sound as she sprinkles cinnamon on the cappuccino then covers the cups and put them in a bag before handing them to Mr Grumpyface.

“Thanks,” the guy grits through his teeth.

Stiles and Lydia watch him walk away, silently admiring the muscles of his ass moving in his fitted pants. Tall Dark and Brooding doesn’t go very far, stopping at the closed-down boutique right in front of the coffee shop and knocking on the door. A gorgeous girl with long, dark hair opens the door and steals the paper bag from him before she lets him come in, closing the door behind them.

“So, I take it someone finely bought Mr Radley’s shop?” Stiles asks, a bit surprised.

Mr Radley had been selling sheet music at his shop for over thirty years, but he’d retired a few months ago and had been trying to sell the place.

“Looks like it,” Lydia shrugs, turning back to him. “Now, tell me what you could have done to work faster?”

***

There are hammering sounds coming from inside Mr Radley’s old shop. Stiles can hear them now that the mall is almost empty. They’re cleaning up before closing for the day, and Stiles is exhausted, but he can’t help it, he’s curious about what the hell is going on in there. The blinds are still closed, have been all day, and Stiles has been unable to catch a glimpse the inside whenever the gorgeous boy and girl bought boxes after boxes in.

“So, how was your first day, Stiles?” Mr Argent asks him, bringing him back to reality.

Mr Argent had come back to pick Allison up, obvious, but also to check up on his new employee.

“Best summer job I’ve ever had,” Stiles grins, washing his hands.

“If I remember correctly, this is your first summer job,” Mr Argent smirks.

“Ah, yes,” Stiles admits, rubbing the back of his head. “Seriously though, it’s a bit more complicated than I thought but I think I’m doing okay? You should ask Lydia, really, but she’ll probably make an excruciatingly detailed list of all the ways I failed today, so no, don’t ask Lydia. My first day was fine, thank you.”

Mr Argent huffs, amused. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he tells Stiles, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Stiles thinks Mr Argent is about to say more, but he sort of freezes on the spot, his eyes darting somewhere behind Stiles. His face goes blank and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder tightens slightly. It’s not painful, but still uncomfortable.

Stiles turns his head in the direction his boss is staring at. Tall, Dark and Broody is dragging a ladder out of the shop while the girl holds on a huge sign. An older man follows the guy outside, and at first Stiles has the feeling he’s looking straight at him.

“Argent,” he says with a strange little smile, half amused, half taunting, and half nervous. Yes, Stiles is aware that’s too many halves.

“Hale,” Mr Argent nods in reply, polite but tight. Then he looks at the sign that the girl and boy are putting up. “ _The Lone Wolf’s Bookshelf_ , really?”

“We buy and sell used books,” Mr Hale says, that strange smile still tugging at his lips. “You called your coffee shop The Silver Bullet.”

Mr Argent just nods, which leaves Stiles completely confused over the strange exchange.

“You could have warned me, Peter,” he says, softly.

“We don’t owe you anything, Argent,” the girl chirps in, almost nonchalantly. 

“You remember my niece Laura,” Mr Hale says. “And Derek, of course.”

“Of course,” Mr Argent says. “Welcome to the Great Mall.”

After that, Mr Argent just turns around, calling his daughter and telling her they’re leaving. He tosses his keys to Lydia and lets Stiles and her finish closing up the shop.

“That was weird,” Lydia tells him, looking in Peter Hale’s direction with a frown.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees.

“And why does that name sound familiar, anyway?”

“You remember that fire, like ten years ago? The one where almost a whole family died?”

“That was six years ago, not ten,” Lydia corrects him. “And, yeah, now I remember. The kids were at school and their uncle escaped the fire, right?”

“Yeah, he was the only one to make it out alive,” Stiles confirms. “I remember my dad talking about that case, a little. He used to talk to mom about everything.”

“Well, in any case, the kids are obviously not kids anymore,” she says, arching an eyebrow at where Laura was laughing and Derek was glaring at her and at the world in general.

“Nope,” Stiles agrees. 

Derek glances in their direction, and Stiles’s heart skips a bit under the intensity of his stare. He licks his lips nervously, and Derek looks away, shoving past his sister to get back inside the bookshop.

“Hey, you want a ride home?”

“In your Jeep?” Lydia sneers. “Yeah, right. I’m calling Jackson to pick me up.”

***

It’s late when Stiles finally gets home, and his dad is already sprawled on the couch, watching the baseball game. There are boxes of Chinese food on the coffee table, and Stiles frowns.

“You know that’s not good for you, right,” he lectures his dad as he sits down next to him and grabs one of the boxes. “How’s the game going so far?”

“The Mets are losing.”

Stiles sighs, then proceeds to stuffing his mouth with noodles. They watch the game in silence for a while, until it appears clear that there’s almost no way the Mets could make up for their bad start. The other team is way too ahead of them on the score board.

“So, the Hales are opening a bookshop next to the coffee shop,” Stiles says, going for casual and missing by a thousand miles judging by the look his dad gives him.

“Are they now?”

“Yeah. It was weird, too, when Mr Argent showed up.”

“Son, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Stiles exclaims, on the defensive. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Oh, so you weren’t about to question me about the history between Chris Argent and the Hales?” his dad says, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

“That would depend on how you define ‘questioning’? Because my plan was totally to just hint subtly about the tension between them until you give up some info. No questions asked. It was a good plan, too.”

“Just leave it alone, please? Some things are better left in the past.”

***

The bookshop opens three days later. Beacon Hills is a small town, so a new shop opening at the mall is almost some kind of big event. Well, not exactly, it’s still a bookshop after all, but there are definitely a lot of curious shoppers turning up to have a look at the Lone Wolf, which inevitably results in a busier day at the coffee shop.

Stiles is getting better, but there’s no way he and Lydia can keep up with the amount of work behind the coffee maker. Allison calls in her dad and Mr Argent shows up twenty minutes later. The three of them make it work, even though it’s a bit crowded behind the counter. Mr Argent only leaves much later in the afternoon, and Stiles switches place with Allison, because according to Lydia he needs more experience on the cash register. 

Mr Argent’s been gone for less than two minutes when Derek Hale shows up, almost as if he’d been waiting for the older man to leave. Stiles smiles at him, but Derek just frowns and orders three coffees to go.

“How’s opening day going?” Stiles asks as he writes the orders on paper cups and hands them to Lydia.

“Busy,” Derek grumbles.

“I hope it quiets down a bit, to be honest,” Stiles says, and Derek glares at him. “Today was exhausting for us. Not that I’m saying – I don’t mean – Obviously it’s awesome for you if the bookshop is doing well!” he adds, mumbling.

Derek just sighs, but he leaves Stiles a generous tip, so Stiles must have done something right.

“You’re so cute when you’re mooning over someone else than me,” Lydia mocks him when Derek is gone. “Not that I blame you, I’m amazing.”

“I’m not mooning!” Stiles blushes. “I barely talked to him twice!”

Lydia hums, amused, and Stiles turns to his next client, deciding to ignore her. Seriously, just because Derek is hot and Stiles has eyes doesn’t mean he’s crushing on the guy. He doesn’t know anything about him.

***

It’s Stiles’s day off, and he ditched Scott to spend it at the library. Stiles isn’t sure what it says about him. He hates the library, the need to be quiet. But Google had produced no result when he cross-referenced the names of Hale and Argent, and the Beacon Hills Herald doesn’t keep an online archive.

Stiles starts by looking for the news about the fire, because now that he thinks of it Allison and her parents moved to Beacon Hills about six years ago, and he has no other starting point. He’s not even sure what he’s looking for.

The first article is from February 2005. It doesn’t state names, but Stiles recognizes a younger Peter Hale sitting on the back of an ambulance, EMTs checking him out. 11 people died in the fire, including children. There’s a mention about two teenagers being at school when it happened, and Stiles wonders why there were so many people in the house at the time.

The next article is from two days later. There’s a photo of a burned-out house, which seems to be in the middle of the woods. The title reads “Foul Play Suspeced In Hale Fire” and talks about suspicion of arson. There’s a couple of follow-up pieces in the next weeks, in which all Stiles learns is that the Hales had family over for some kind of family event, and the police made an arrest in early April. Stiles feels proud when he sees a photo of his dad pushing a couple of guys in his police car. He’d just been elected sheriff back then.

There’s nothing more for a few weeks and Stiles is about to give up when finds the next article. At least the title is clear: “Local Bartender Behind The Hale Fire”. It seems a young woman paid the guys his dad arrested to set the fire. The article doesn’t mention any motives, but it does give her name: Kate Argent. Stiles goes frenetically through the next issues of the newspapers, looking for more, but when he reaches the month of December he still hasn’t found anything and his head is buzzing.

Either someone killed the story, or the town moved on, but it doesn’t matter. Stiles found his link. He goes back to that last article, looks at the photo of Kate. She has an arrogant smile on her face even as she’s being walked into the police station. She looks in her mid-twenties, so it’s easy for Stiles to deduce the logical family tie: she’s probably Mr Argent’s sister, maybe a cousin. Sister is most likely, given the tension between him and the Hales.

Stiles sighs, putting the newspapers back in place, though probably not all in the right order. He’s too tired to care, his ability to concentrate shot to hell after hours of intense research. He needs to go do something that requires no real amount of concentration. He’s not even out of the library yet when he grabs his phone and calls Scott’s number.

***

The next week is easier for Stiles. He knows what he’s doing, for one, and the mall is more quiet. People are starting to go off on holidays, and the novelty of the Lone Wolf’s Bookshelf has died down a little bit. Oh, they have customers, just not the constant crowd of the first few days. The Hales stop by for coffee, and sometimes Laura even convinces her brother to sit down at a table when they’re on a break. It looks a lot like sibling-bullying to Stiles, which is kind of hilarious because Derek is a tall, muscular guy and Laura is kind of small, but she bosses him around almost as much as Peter does.

Derek never comes by when Mr Argent is there. Peter _always_ comes by when Mr Argent is there. Stiles can’t tell if he’s trying to play nice or just to make Mr Argent feel nervous or guilty. He’s all polite smiles and quiet conversation, but Mr Argent flexes his hands by his sides the way Stiles’s dad does when he’s itching to pick up his gun. If Stiles is perfectly honest, he can’t blame him. As attractive as they are, there’s an aura of danger around the Hales that Stiles can feel deep in his bones at times.

“Hi,” Stiles smiles at Derek when he stops by on Saturday afternoon. “Same three as usual?”

“I’m on my lunch break,” Derek replies, looking vaguely irritated. It’s his usual look though, and Stiles isn’t phased by it anymore. Well, not _much_.

“Oh. What can I get you then?” he asks, and starts describing their different French bread sandwiches.

Derek takes two, his glare warning Stiles off making any sort of comment about the amount of food he eats, and Stiles offers to put them on the grill for a minute to warm them up. While they wait, Lydia comes back and orders Stiles to take his own lunch break now before the rush hour of the afternoon starts. 

Stiles slides Derek’s sandwiches on a plate and hands him the tray with a smile, then goes to the back shop to retrieve his own lunch - a salad, because his dad insists that if _he_ has to eat rabbit food, then so does Stiles - and take off his apron. 

When he comes back out, Derek is still standing next to the counter with his tray in hand, grunting monosyllables at whatever Lydia’s talking to him about. Stiles isn’t expecting Derek to follow him to a table and sit down in front of him, but okay, cool, he can roll with that. Probably. And hopefully without making too much of a fool of himself.

He picks at his salad, trying not to stare too hard at the hotness that is Derek Hale. Though Derek looks less sexy and more scary when he’s devouring two gigantic sandwiches. There’s cheese running over Derek’s fingers and crumbs are getting caught in his stubble, and Stiles hides his nervous smile by stuffing lettuce in his mouth.

Derek’s eyes catch his over the second sandwich, and he looks annoyed and surprised. He lowers his food and cocks his head to the side, studying Stiles’s face, which is more than likely turning a bright shade of pink under that intense stare.

“Dude, I know you have a fork and a knife because I _gave them to you_ , Stiles comments to break the awkward silence.

“It’s a sandwich, you’re supposed to eat those with your hands.”

“Yeah, except when it’s hot and dripping melted cheese and crispy crumbs all over the place,“ Stiles snorts. Once his mouth is running, it’s like he can’t stop. “Plus, you know, sitting at a table, like a civilized person. God, it’s like you were raised by wolves or something!”

Derek’s eyes drift to the bookshop and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Yeah, or something,” he agrees, but he puts the rest of his sandwich down on his plate and picks up the knife and fork.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Stiles starts, watching Derek aggressively cut into the sandwich and stab it with his fork. “I’m sure your uncle did a great job with you and Laura. I mean, your sister at least didn’t turn out all cavewoman-like, so he can’t be that bad, right?”

“What?” Derek grunts, a bite of hacked-up sandwich raised half-way to his mouth. He’s looking at Stiles, all frustrated confusion.

“You know, Laura? Nice girl, kind of bossy but mostly smiling and polite?”

“I know who Laura is,” Derek says, still looking confused.

“Yeah, well, I just...” Stiles looks down to his salad, avoiding Derek’s confused glare. “What I meant was, I didn’t mean to imply your uncle didn’t do a good job raising you guys. Just because _you_ turned out to have the manner of a prehistoric homo sapiens.”

Stiles has no idea how Derek manages it, but even his chewing sounds angry.

“I’m gonna stop talking now,” Stiles sighs. He really did get his foot in his mouth big time, it would seem.

In front of him, Derek grunts. whether it’s at what Stiles said or at his food is hard to say. They eat in silence for a little while, and Stiles’s legs starts bouncing of its own accord, because Stiles’s body is incapable of staying motionless for too long.

“Stop that,” Derek grunts, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry, dude, but it’s either that or I start talking again and make things even more awkward,” Stiles rambles.

“I don’t mind your talking,” Derek grumbles, then stuffs another piece of his sandwich in his mouth.

Stiles stares at him, his mouth hanging open in surprise until he remembers to close it again.

“Okay then,” he breathes out.

He starts blabbering about his job and how it’s both easier and harder than he thought. He talks about working with Lydia, about Scott’s crush on Allison, about the latest episode of Eureka and how he can’t believe it’s the last season. Light, safe conversation topics that he can just go on and on about without even thinking, without having to watch his words and wonder if he’s going to inadvertently say something stupid or hurtful. 

Derek’s replies are monosyllabic at best as he finishes his sandwich then starts tearing up his paper napkin into small pieces, but he doesn’t growl at Stiles to just shut the fuck up already, so Stiles counts it as a small victory. He isn’t sure why Derek choose to spend his lunch break with him, but he’s not going to complain. Maybe Derek is just very bad at conversation.

“What was _that_ all about?” Allison asks him with a conspiratorial smile and a shoulder nudge when he comes back from his break.

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says, biting his lower lip as he watches Derek disappear into the bookstore. “It was nice though.”

“What was nice?” Lydia asks, pushing passed Stiles to get behind the coffee maker.

“Stiles’s lunch date with Derek Hale,” Allison replies with a grin.

“Oh, good for you Stiles!” Lydia congratulates him.

“It wasn’t a date,” Stiles protests. “It was just lunch!”

As if he’d have a chance with a guy like Derek Hale. The girls just smile and nod, and Stiles grumbles, but soon the afternoon shoppers file into the mall and they have too much work on their hands to talk about Stiles’s not love life.

Laura stops by a couple of hours later to buy coffee, and she smiles brightly at Stiles. Seriously, sometimes Stiles wonders if they really _are_ siblings, even though it’s obvious from the shape of their nose and the incredible blue-green color of their eyes.

Mr Argent arrives when they’re closing the shop, and he helps Allison count the daily takings while Lydia and Stiles clean everything up. Like most of the shops in the mall they’re closed on Sundays, and Stiles is looking forward to collapsing in his couch and watch the baseball game. Maybe he’ll even call Scott and have him come over, since his dad is working tonight.

“Stiles?” Mr Argent asks when he’s done sweeping the floor.

“Yes, Mr Argent?”

“I have to drop Allison to the train station since she’s spending a couple of days at her mother’s. Would you mind stopping by the bank to deposit the week’s takings into the shop’s account? They close in an hour and I don’t think I can make it.”

“Um, sure,” Stiles says, resisting the urge to complain that he just wants to go home. Mr Argent trusting him with something like this is _huge_.

Mr Argent opens the safe and takes out a fat envelope in which he slips the day’s money. He closes it and scribbles an account number on it.

“Just give them my name and the account number,” he tells Stiles as he hands him the envelope. “And be careful on the way there.”

“I’ll guard this with my life,” Stiles says seriously, sliding the envelope in his backpack.

Mr Argent smiles indulgently and pats his shoulder. “I know you will.”

***

Stiles wasn’t expecting to stumble into Derek at the bank, but here he is, right in front of Stiles in the queue. Stiles tries very hard not to stare down at the curve of Derek’s ass in his ridiculously tight jeans and wonders if he should say something to let him know he’s there. He’s not sure if they’re actually friends now that they had lunch together.

The queue moves forward and Stiles manages to trip over his own feet, because he’s _smooth_ that way, and he bumps against Derek’s strong back.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, trying to regain his balance.

A hand lands on his shoulder to stabilize him, and when Stiles lifts his gaze from the uneven floor he meets Derek’s eyes staring at him from much closer than he has ever seen them before. There are flakes of brilliant green in the blue irises.

“Um, hi there,” Stiles says.

Derek just nods. He doesn’t take his hand from Stiles’s shoulder until, and they keep staring at each other in silence until the queue moves forward again. He drops his hand then and turns around to take a couple of steps in the direction of the counters, but his body is slightly tilted to the side and he steals glances at Stiles from the corner of his eye.

“So, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Stiles eventually says, because silences are stressful and evil. “Do you come here often?”

“You’re aware that this sounds like a bad pick-up line, right?” Derek grunts, but the corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Yeah, I’m not the most subtle guy on Earth,” Stiles replies, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Not that it was supposed to be a pick-up line,” he adds quickly when Derek turns a little bit more towards him and raises an eyebrow. “It was just a way to open the conversation, because I like talking to you, even if you mostly just grunts back. I think the whole silent and broody look suits you, it gives you an air of mystery that’s kind of really hot, but again, not coming on to you, oh God, please stop me from talking and humiliating myself even more!”

“I’m almost morbidly curious to see where you’re going with that,” Derek says flatly, but there’s a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“Dude, that’s just mean!” Stiles complains, play-punching Derek’s shoulder. “Also, _ow_. How much time do you spend in the gym?”

Stiles flexes his fingers. Derek’s arm is hard as a rock.

“I mostly work out at home,” Derek shrugs.

“Freak,” Stiles comments with a smile, and Derek just shakes his head, half exasperated and half amused, judging by the little twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

Stiles is starting to think Derek might have some medical condition that renders him incapable of smiling.

They talk a little more – well, Stiles talks and Derek vaguely responds with grunts and nods and the smallest amount of words possible – and as the queue slowly moves forward they end up more side by side than one behind the other. Stiles is mid-sentence when Derek suddenly grips his wrist.

“Shut up,” he says, cocking his head on the side.

“Wow, dude, okay, I thought you didn’t–”

“Stiles, shut _up_ ,” Derek grits through his teeth, aggressive and scary in a way Stiles has never felt heard before.

His mouth seals shut, and he watches Derek take a quick glance behind them at the bank’s entrance then purposefully looking _anywhere else_. His jaw is clenched as he checks out their surroundings.

“Don’t say anything.” he says gruffly, then tugs on Stiles’s wrist. “Come with me.”

Stiles almost protests but a warning look from Derek makes him keep his mouth shut and he follows Derek. There’s an _Out of order_ sign on the restroom door, but Derek pushes it open anyway and drags Stiles inside. He leaves the door open by a crack and peaks inside before turning back to Stiles, who’s trying very hard to calm his hormones down, because he sincerely doubts Derek dragged him in hear to do dirty things to him.

“Dude,” he starts, but Derek makes a shushing gesture, bringing his finger to his lips. “What’s going on?” Stiles whispers anyway.

“Do you have your phone?” Derek asks instead of replying.

“Er, sure, don’t you?”

“Battery died yesterday,” he grunts. “Call your dad.”

“Yesterday?” Stiles stares at Derek. What kind of person doesn’t recharge their phone for a whole day?

“Yes, Stiles, yesterday. _Call your dad_. This place is about to get robbed.”

“How the hell would you know that?”

“Quiet!” Derek growls. “Just trust me.”

“Nu-uh,” Stiles shakes his head. “I’m not calling my dad for a robbery when nothing’s happening. I don’t especially want to be grounded all summer.”

Derek sighs, exasperated, and grabs Stiles’s neck to drag him to the crack of the door.

“See the two guards at the back? They’re shutting the main doors, but the bank doesn’t close for another twenty minutes and they always shut the doors ten minutes before. And that guy leaning against the opposite wall with a dufflebag? See the bulge in his jacket? That’s a gun. There’s at least two others we can’t see from here. Now call your dad.”

Stiles is going to protest Derek can’t possibly know these things for sure, even though it _does_ seem suspicious, when the sound of a gunshot resonates through the hall. Amongst the following shouts, he clearly hears the words “this is a robbery”.

“Fuck.”

Backing away from the door, Stiles digs his phone out of his pocket and calls his father with shaky fingers.

“Stiles, this better be important, I’m on duty.”

“Does bank robbery rate as important?” Stiles asks as hushed as he can.

“Ha ha, very funny kid. What do you want?”

“I’m serious dad! Mr Argent sent me to the bank on Jefferson and there’s a robbery going on!”

Outside, Stiles can hear the thieves instruct everyone to give them their phones and keep quiet. Derek is still peeking through the small opening.

“And they’re letting you call your father because?” the Sheriff asks, clearly not believing him. 

“Derek and I are hiding in the bathroom. They haven’t found us yet.”

“Derek Hale?” His dad sounds surprised. “Pass him to me.”

Stiles should feel offended that his dad won’t trust his word but will trust Derek’s. But to be honest, Scott and him have done a fair amount of prank calls in their time. He hands the phone to Derek, who doesn’t seem surprised.

“Stiles is telling the truth,” Derek whispers into the phone. From what I could see and hear, there’s six of them. Yes sir, we will. Thank you sir.”

He hands the phone back to Stiles.

“Stay on the line with me, son,” his father says, sounding serious. “We’re on our way.”

***

Derek looks at the bars on the restroom windows. He could easily bend them, haul himself and Stiles through there, but it would raise too many questions. He cocks his head, listening to the law whispers of the robbers near the entrance, the ones dressed as security guards.

“The cops are here, how can the cops be here?” one of them is saying. “Dan disabled the alarm before we even shut the doors!”

“Someone must have called them,” the other one says. “Damn it, that makes things more complicated.”

“We took everyone’s phones though, and Charlie’s been keeping an eye on them. I don’t get it!”

“We must have missed someone. Did you check the bathrooms?”

“Of course I... Wait. I didn’t check these ones, they’re out of order.”

“Damn it,” Derek breathes out.

He turns around and grabs Stiles’s wrist, takes him into one of the stalls.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks in a hurried whisper, and Derek can hear the Sheriff on the other end of the line, asking what’s going on.

“They’re coming here. We need to hide.”

Derek closes the toilet’s lid and steps on it, tugging Stiles up. He pushes the door mostly shut and Stiles fists a hand in his jacket to keep his balance. It’s a tight fit, the two of them standing there, their bodies flushed against each other. The Sheriff is silent through the phone, and Stiles is breathing hard in Derek’s neck, his heart pounding against Derek’s chest, and Derek holds him still.

The restroom door creaks as it’s pushed open. The sound of boots clanking on the tiled floor is almost deafening, and Derek can feel the wolf in him stirring, restless, wanting to come out and eliminate the threat. He can’t, though, so Derek focuses on Stiles’s breathing, loud in his ear but hopefully quiet enough to human ears, on Stiles’s scent flooding his nose, the faint, almost apologetic note of arousal in it.

On the other side of the door, the man walks to the end of the bathroom, then starts pushing doors open. If Derek was alone, he could jump up, leap over the partition separating the stalls and hide in one where the guys has already looked. Is he was alone, he could knock the robber out, not caring if he shoots his gun at him. But he has Stiles to think of, to keep safe. They’re going to be found.

“Stay calm,” he whispers in Stiles’s ear just before the door opens.

“Awww, look at that,” the robber says sarcastically, pointing is gun at them. “Aren’t you adorable. Come out.”

Derek helps Stiles down, trying to discretely grab the phone from his hand to slide it in his pocket, but Stiles slips and he has to grab him to prevent him from knocking his head against the wall.

“Give me the phone,” the robber says, and he brings it to his ear without taking his gun off them. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Stiles’s father replies. “You’re surrounded, but if you just give yourselves up without harming anyone, I’m sure we can work something out with the DA to reduce your sentence.”

“Not gonna happen, Sheriff. We’ll be calling you back.”

***

Chris was driving back from the train station when he notices the police cars blocking up Jefferson Avenue. He’s about to take a turn to the right and find another way to get home, but he catches a glimpse of a familiar face.

Peter Hale is arguing with a police officer, his niece standing a couple of feet behind him. He hasn’t seen Peter look so angry or Laura look so worried since Kate’s trial.

Chris parks the car as soon as he can and jogs to where the Hales are. He isn’t sure why he’s doing this, his relationship with the local pack has always been tenuous at best, even after he hung up his guns in penance for Kate’s crime, but he can just feel something is happening.

“What’s going on?” he asks, and Peter turns to him with a snarl. There’s a red ring around his irises, like he’s two seconds away from changing in the middle of the street.

“Bank robbery,” Laura whines, because Peter is apparently too busy trying to contain his anger. “Derek’s in there, but they won’t let us through or tell us anything.”

Chris nods, then puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder,

“He’ll be fine, you know he’ll be,” he says, as soothingly as he can. “You need to stay calm. I’ll call Sheriff Stilinski, see if he can get you through, okay?”

“I don’t need your help,” Peter growls, but his eyes are completely blue again.

“You have the Sheriff on speed dial?” Laura asks him, surprised.

“He insisted when his son started working for me... I just hope Stiles got out before anything happened.”

The Sheriff sends someone to get the Hales, and Chris goes with them. They’re asked to wait between two police cars, where they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. Stilinski comes over a couple of minutes later. He looks grey and worried, and Chris doesn’t have to ask about Stiles. Guilt pools in his stomach. If anything happens to the kid just because he couldn’t let his daughter take the bus to the train station, he’ll never forgive himself.

“Do you know what’s happening in there?” Peter asks. There’s still an edge in his voice that has Chris worried.

“Last we heard they had everyone sitting in the hall while they emptied the vaults. We’ve lost our contacts on the inside, so I don’t know for sure what’s going on right now.”

“Your contacts?” Chris repeats, hopeful. “You have officers in there?”

The Sheriff shakes his head.

“Stiles and Derek managed to sneak to the bathroom and called me from there, but they’ve been found out. I’m sorry, the State officers have just arrived and I need to go brief them. You can stay here, but don’t get in the way, okay?”

“Thank you,” Peter grits out, nodding at the Sheriff.

Chris watches the Alpha flex his fingers, claws flashing out for a second before retracting. He needs to keep Peter’s mind occupied before his instincts take over and he just runs in there to get his nephew out.

“Can you hear anything from inside?” he asks, as calmly as he can.

“Too much noise, and the walls are too thick,” Peter replies, shaking his head. “Maybe if I could get closer.”

“They won’t let you” Chris warns him. “Not from this side, anyway.”

“I think there’s an alley behind the building,” Laura pipes up. “No entrance to the bank, so the cops probably didn’t cordon it off.”

Chris looks at Laura. She seems a little bit calmer, though the anguish is still painted all over her face.

“Will it help keep the wolf in to be able to hear him?” Chris asks, and Peter nods, shortly. “Go then.”

Peter’s already wading through the crowd before Chris has finished talking. He looks at Laura again, leaning against one of the police cars. She looks back at him, and her eyes are hard, but completely human.

“You should go with him,” she says. “He can be a bit, ah, _volatile_ when the pack’s in danger. I need to stay here in case they have any news, but I’d feel better if someone made sure Peter didn’t do anything stupid.”

“And you trust me for that?” Chris asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You were a hunter, you know what to look out for,” she shrugs. Her nonchalance looks forced. “I know you won’t let him put the humans in there in danger.”

Chris finds Peter in the alley. He’s wolfed out, but not shifted all the way into his Alpha form, which means he hasn’t completely lost his control, at least. The werewolf is crouching near a barred window, pointy ear pressed against the glass even as his red eyes follow Chris’s movements. Chris leans against the wall next to the window, his hands carefully in sight so Peter won’t feel threatened.

“Can you hear him?”

“He’s talking to that Stiles kid of yours. He sounds calm. Fine.”

“I doubt these men could actually hurt him, you know that,” Chris tells him, watching Peter’s claws dig marks into the pavement.

“A bullet in the head can kill a werewolf as efficiently as wolfsbane,” Peter growls, but he shifts back to human, gets up from his crouch. “Why are you even here?”

“Your niece seemed to think I could help keep you calm,” Chris explains calmly.

“Of course she did,” Peter smirks, shaking his head.

There is a joke there that Chris doesn’t get. But Peter looks calmer, more collected, and he leans against the wall next to Chris.

***

Stiles keeps a wary eye on the armed man standing three feet away from him. Once they realized the Sheriff’s number was labeled ‘dad’ in Stiles’s phone, they didn’t let him out of their sight. Stiles’s heart is beating fast in spite of Derek’s calming hand on his, and he squirms under the suspicious stare of the robber. His butt is numb from sitting on the cold floor, even if it’s only been something like fifteen minutes since they found them in the restroom.

He’s pretty sure he would have had a panic attack already if it weren’t for Derek’s calming words, even if Derek looks anything but calm himself. His jaw is stiff and his brow more furrowed than Stiles has ever seen it, and he’s sitting straight and tight like a bow string, like he’s ready to pounce at the first occasion.

A woman - the only one amongst the thieves - comes back from the backroom she’d disappeared into and whispers something in the guy’s ear. Derek’s hand squeezes Stiles a little bit too tight for a second, and Stiles looks at him, squeezes his fingers back.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispers, and Derek takes a deep breath.

The man takes out Stiles’s phone from his pocket and flicks it open, his eyes still fixed on Stiles, gun not-so-casually pointed at them.

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” he says into the phone. “In twenty minutes, you’re going to have a minivan park in front of the bank and a cleared road for us to leave. The hostages will stay inside, unharmed, but we’ll take your kid with us to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. If everything goes smoothly, we’ll drop him off by the side of the road somewhere. If you try anything, I’ll put a bullet through him.”

Stiles hears Derek growl low in his throat, and when he looks at the him his eyes seem too blue, too bright for a second. Stiles squeezes his hand again, wincing when something sharp cuts his skin. Derek turns his eyes on Stiles, worried and apologetic. Stiles licks his lips, nervously, wondering if he’s finally lost part of his fragile sanity. He takes his hand from under Derek’s and looks at the small cut on his index finger, at the shiny drop of blood.

Derek grabs his hand back, covering the wound, and discretely tips his head toward the armed man, who’s stopped watching them as he’s arguing over time on the phone. Stiles swallows. He rearranges his legs under him as quietly as he can and leans towards Derek.

“What are you?” he whispers, feeling silly as the words escape him.

But Derek doesn’t look at him like he’s mad, doesn’t ask what he’s talking about, doesn’t deny what Stiles’s instinct are trying to tell him. He just shakes his head and looks away.

“I don’t care for your excuses, Sheriff,” the man with the gun says, catching Stiles’s attention again.” I said twenty minutes, and that’s all I’m giving you. The clock is ticking.“

He ends the call and looks back at Stiles, rolls his eyes when he notices their joined hands. Stiles feels his cheeks heat up and glances at Derek, who’s still glaring at the robber.

The twenty minutes drizzle by slowly. Stiles’s phone rings a few times, but Gun Guy just ignores it. The other robbers, the ones who keep disappearing in the back rooms, bring back several stuffed dufflebags and pile them up near the doors. 

Stiles’s taps the fingers of his free hand against his thigh, because stillness really isn’t his forte, and every time the sight of the gun pointed at them starts to set off his panic, he looks back at Derek, focuses on the steady rise and fall of his chest, on the warmth of his hand in his. It keeps him grounded, keeps him mostly clear-headed. And it keeps him curious.

Derek doesn’t give any other signs of not being entirely human, though. His eyes are still the color of the ocean after a storm, his hands are still rough and his fingernails still blunt against Stiles’s palm, but there’s something in the way he slowly shifts to be more crouching than sitting, something that speaks of a predator laying low, ready to pounce on its prey. But Stiles isn’t afraid. He’s not the one Derek is glaring at.

The phone rings again, and this time their captor answers it.

“I don’t see a van outside, Sheriff,” he says, half taunting and half angry. “I thought you cared more about your son than that. I guess he doesn’t need his kneecaps to be a good hostage.”

Stiles sees Derek’s face shift into something else, something animal in a very literal sense, as he releases Stiles’s hand and leaps toward Gun Guy, makes a move to slash his claws – his fucking _claws_ – at him, but there’s the sound of a gun being fired and Derek’s propelled back, falling on the hard floor and looking perfectly human again as he writhes in pain, clutching a bloody shoulder.

A roar, or maybe it’s a howl, rises from the back of the building, angry and powerful, and something crashes to the ground, but Stiles doesn’t care. He rushes to Derek’s side, takes Derek’s face in his hands and makes the older boy look at him.

People are shouting and guns are being fired, so Stiles helps Derek get up, move behind a pillar to take cover. He catches a glimpse of a black beast lunging at Gun Guy, then turns his attention back on Derek, shoving his leather jacket out of the way.

“Let me see,” he says, and Derek grunts, winces as he takes the jacket completely off.

“You need to take the bullet out,” he grits through his teeth. “Quickly, before I heal over it.”

“Heal over...” Stiles starts, then shakes his head. “No, doesn’t matter right now. _How_ should I do that?”

“Fingers?” Derek suggests, staring at Stiles wide-eyed.

“Oh my God,” Stiles whines. “Okay, okay, I can do this.”

Derek’s skin is slippery with blood, and the sound his fingers make as he slips two of them inside the wound is sickening. Derek grips his shoulder, squeezes it hard as Stiles jiggles his fingers to grab the piece of metal deep in the flesh and pull it out, ignoring the sounds of fighting and the shouts or the voices calling for help.

He watches, amazed, the skin of Derek’s shoulder start to slowly mend.

***

“I never asked you,” Peter says, almost completely out of the blue. “Why did you stop? Was it the guilt?”

Chris looks at Peter’s face, but it’s a mask of polite interest and collected calm that doesn’t betray his thoughts. Peter is good at masks, most of the time, but Chris thinks he’s learned to see through them a little. This one hides Peter’s worry and his anger. His question is probably to try and think of something else than his nephew trapped with innocents, just like the rest of their family all these years ago.

“Of course I felt guilty,” he replies quietly, looking at the empty space over Peter’s shoulder. “I should have known something was wrong with Kate. I should have kept a better eye on her. But she was my sister, and I didn’t want to see how damaged our lifestyle had left her.”

“You always expect the best of your family,” Peter says, but there’s a hard edge to his voice.

“That’s not an excuse. I’ll always have a part of your family’s blood on my hands. Put anyway, that’s not the reason I hung up my crossbow.”

He looks at Peter then, and the Alpha’s jaw is tight but his mask is slipping and he looks a little bit surprised and honestly curious.

“Then why?”

“Because of Allison?” Chris says hesitantly. “I guess I was afraid something would happen to her, that what we do, what we _did_ , would turn her into...”

“Into Kate,” Peter finishes for him, nodding. 

“Yeah.” Chris looks away, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Also, the whole thing made me realize that the monsters aren’t always the ones with fangs and claws.”

The silence stretches, but it’s not as uncomfortable as Chris would have expected. After a little while, he turns his eyes back on Peter, who’s watching him from closer than before. Chris’s heartbeat picks up a little, but he’s not sure it’s entirely in fear, not even when Peter’s lips stretch on a wicked smile and–

A gun goes off.

Chris’s brain barely has the time to register this information before Peter’s face changes, his features shifting completely. His body grows bigger, ripping his clothes as he takes on his full Alpha shape, the kind of beasts you see in the movies or the old books. Peter drops to all four and howls, the fury of it bringing Chris to his knees.

There’s a crashing sound, and when he looks up Peter has disappeared. Probably through the huge hole in the wall. Damn it, this isn’t going to end well: there are civilians in the bank, held hostage along with Derek. Cursing through his teeth, Chris scrambles over the debris of the wall, terribly aware that he’s going unarmed after a crazed Alpha protecting one of his only Betas.

He runs toward the screams and the sound of gunshots, and he stops just inside the hall. There’s a man lying in a pool of blood, and Peter is currently growling at five other persons surrounding him with guns. He swats the weapon out of a man’s hands and snarls. They take a step back.

Peter snaps his teeth at them, but he takes a careful step back too, then raises his head to let out a triumphant howl before he turns back and starts running right toward Chris. Chris stays frozen where he stands until Peter rushes past him just as the main doors burst open and cops start pouring inside. He catches a glimpse of Derek and Stiles appearing from behind a pillar, and of the robbers dropping their guns on the floor, then he turns around and goes after Peter.

He’s not sure what to expect when he climbs out through the hole back into the alley, but it’s certainly not a naked Peter Hale leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed around his chest protectively, staring at him with eyes still red.

“I need to know,” the Alpha asks, voice powerful and commanding and just a little bit animalistic. “Are you going to come after me, after my pack for this?”

“You killed a man,” Chris says as calmly as possible, keeping a wary eye on Peter.

“He hurt Derek, I could feel it.”

“I guessed so. And you didn’t touch the others. But what you did was foolish and dangerous, and it won’t be long until the cops find us here so we should get a move on.”

Peter nods, uncrosses his arms and takes a step forward, then looks down at himself. Chris’s eyes can’t help but follow his lead and take in the glorious sight of a naked Peter Hale.

“I think I have a change of clothes in my car,” he offers, mouth slightly dry.

Peter looks back up and Chris keeps his eyes resolutely on the other man’s face, even when Peter smirks and raises an amused eyebrow.

“So, not gonna kill me?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” Chris replies, and it’s only partially a joke.

“They’re coming,” Peter says, nodding towards the hole in the wall.

Chris and him pick up what’s left of Peter’s clothes and run towards another alley. It soon becomes apparent that there’s no way they could both discretely reach Chris’s car, though. The werewolf follows him as far as possible, but Chris has to leave him a couple of minutes to cross a more frequented street and go through the stuff in his trunk.

He finds a shirt and a jeans and bolts back to the alley where he left Peter. The man nods his tanks and starts pulling the jeans on, and Chris turns his back on him. Just checking nobody sees them, he tells himself.

“Thank you, Chris,” Peter says, putting a hand on his shoulder, and Chris startles. That was fast.

“I probably would have done something similar for my family, to be honest,” he replies, shrugging.

Peter squeezes his shoulder, lets his hand linger a little bit too long. Chris can’t help but think the way he brushes his arm when he does let go is completely deliberate, and it sends a small shiver through his spine.

“We should go before someone wonders where you are,” he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “And Peter? I won’t go after you. Or your pack. But you need to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

“I only have two Betas.”

Chris knows how pack dynamics work, knows that there’s a reason why most packs are fairly large. The more Betas in them, the more stable the Alpha is.

“I was kind of expecting you to go on a biting spree after the fire, to be honest,” Peter admits as they makes their way back to the bank.

“With your whole family breathing down my neck, waiting for me to slip up?” Peter looks at Chris with an almost pouty face that seems to say ‘really, how stupid do you think I am?’

“You though that was the reason I stayed in Beacon Hills? To keep an eye on you?”

“It seemed to be a reasonable assumption.”

“Peter, as long as you don’t go randomly bite some stranger in the woods, you’re allowed to extend your pack.”

Peter gives him a strange look, then pushes through the crowd in front of the bank. Chris follows more slowly, and when he reaches the yellow police tape he sees Peter squeeze both his nephew and his niece in his arms.

***

Derek’s hand slips out of Stiles’s fingers when his sister throws herself at him and he returns the hug. Stiles nervously bites his lower lip, looking away from the uncharacteristic display of affection. He catches a glimpse of his dad helping his men get the bank robbers in the back of a police van, and his father sees him.

He says something to one of his men and starts making his way toward Stiles when Laura suddenly wraps her arms around him. Stiles awkwardly pats her on the back, looking over her shoulder at Derek’s tired but mildly amused face. Laura’s hug doesn’t last too long, fortunately, otherwise Stiles might have gotten a bit too uncomfortable about having her breasts pressed against his chest. She steps back, but keeps her hands on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay, I’m glad you’re both okay,” she says, smiling brightly.

“We get it, Laura,” Derek grunts.

“Stiles!”

Stiles turns around to face his dad, who wraps him in his arms, and Stiles just clings on for a moment.

“I’m okay, dad, really.”

His father lets him go and smiles warily, before turning to Derek.

“Story goes you took a bullet for my son. Why the hell aren’t you with the paramedics?”

Derek shares a look with Laura, then shrugs. Stiles notices how his fingers are clutching the leather jacket in his hands, and he knows there’s a round bullet hole in it.

“The bullet just grazed me, it was nothing, sir” Derek mumbles.

“You’re kidding?” Stiles cuts in. “It was _awesome_. You’re totally my hero.” 

He grins at Derek, who just stares back at him, eyes wide. Laura grins back, shaking her head at them.

“Well, have it checked out anyway, son,” the Sheriff says, putting a hand on Derek’s good shoulder.

“Yes sir, I will.”

“Can one of you tell me what happened exactly? People are talking about some giant, rabid dog or a small bear barging in, but it’s all very confused.”

Stiles bites his lip, looking at Derek for a second before shaking his head.

“We didn’t see anything, we just hid behind a pillar,” he says, and he’s not even lying. 

He has a feeling he knows what, or at least _who_ that black creature was, though, as he watches Derek and Laura’s uncle run towards them.

***

On Monday, Stiles spends the whole morning staring at the Lone Wolf shop, wondering if one of the Hales is going to come over at least to buy coffee. They don’t, and Stiles messes up more orders than he even had on his first day. Lydia puts him at the cash register when she gets tired of his mistakes, but it’s not much better, so Stiles ends up washing cups and dishes and clearing up tables.

His shifts finishes at 2, and Lydia sighs with relief when he takes off his apron. Stiles smiles apologetically as he leaves. He bites his lower lip, nervous, before walking up to the bookshop’s door. When he peeks inside, Laura smiles at him from behind the register.

“Derek’s somewhere in the shelves,” she tells him before he even asks. “He’s been meaning to talk to you, but _he’s a big coward_.” She says the last part a little bit louder than necessary.

A second later, a book flies at her head and she catches it easily with a smirk, not even taking her eyes off Stiles. Yeah, definitely not entirely human.

“Thanks,” Stiles nods at her with a shy smile before wandering in the direction the book came from.

He finds Derek rearranging books on a shelf, his back turned to Stiles, broad shoulders stiff.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, leaning against another shelf. He’s twisting his fingers nervously, not sure what to do with his hands.

“Hey,” Derek replies shortly, still not turning.

“So, about Saturday,” Stiles starts, not sure how to finish. 

He spent the whole of Sunday turning every possibility in his head, over and over again, and he tends to come back to the same conclusions every time. It still sound crazy though.

Derek stiffens even more – Stiles honestly didn’t think it was possible – but he finally turns around and glares at Stiles.

“Thank you. For not saying anything to your father,” he grunts.

“What could I have said,” Stiles shrugs, “that you took a bullet but healed as soon as it was out? That your face became all weird when you _saved my life_?”

“You could have.”

“I don’t especially want to end up in a shrink’s office again, thank you very much.” Stiles looks away from Derek’s inquisitive look. “But I wouldn’t mind an explanation for what happened, just so I can stop researching werewolves and vampires and various fae lore.”

“Vampires?” Derek’s voice almost sounds amused, and when Stiles looks back he has an eyebrow raised and what looks like the smallest of smiles.

“Hey, I didn’t get a good look, but it reminded me of that old Buffy show, from when I was a kid.” 

Derek grunts, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Stiles asks, slightly offended.

“Laura used to force me watch that show with her. And she wouldn’t shut up about how Angel and Spike were meant for each other.”

“You totally shipped it too!” comes Laura’s voice from the other side of the shop.

Derek glares in her direction even though bookshelves block her from view, then grabs Stiles’s wrist and drags him toward the back office, closing the door firmly behind them. Stiles looks around at the boxes of books everywhere, the mini fridge in a corner and the ancient-looking computer on the cluttered desk, then shoots an interrogating look at Derek.

“We had this room isolated, for when the noise of the mall becomes too much. It’ll be essential with the full moon approaching.”

“So, werewolf then,” Stiles nods, still not entirely sure he hasn’t finally gone insane.

“Yes.”

“All of you?” Stiles asks, looking back at the door briefly.

“Yes.”

“My, are you loquacious,” Stiles smirks, but Derek just glares back. “Relax, dude, your secret is safe with me.”

“I know,” Derek says, like he never doubted it, but the way he drops his eyes to the floor betrays him.

“Hey, can I see?” Stiles asks before his brain can catch up with his mouth.

“See what?”

“When you, you know. _Change_.”

Derek shakes his head, but takes a step back.

“Don’t run away, or I might be tempted to chase after you,” he says with a small smirk, and Stiles isn’t sure if he’s joking or being dreadfully serious.

It’s not just his face that changes. His shoulders bulge up, even more massive than usual his back is curved forward. His arms seem a little bit longer, and his fingers end in massive claws. His ears are pointed, with a tuft of hair at the top that should look positively ridiculous but somehow doesn’t. His forehead is rumpled and huge, pointy teeth prevent him from closing his mouth correctly. 

But what strikes Stiles the most are the gorgeous, electric blue eye staring at him. He’d caught a glimpse of the before, in the bank, but it had been just a flash. Stiles can’t help but take a step forward, lean a bit closer to drown in these mesmerizing eyes. Slowly, he raises a head to touch Derek’s brow, feel the bones underneath the flesh, stroke the ridiculous sideburn going down Derek’s cheek.

Derek closes his eyes, leans into the touch, and that’s when Stiles’s brain catches up with what he’s doing. He swallows, hard, but doesn’t take his hand away.

“Does it hurt? The change,” he asks softly, his mouth close to Derek’s, so close.

He feels the bones rearrange themselves under his hand as Derek turns back to human.

“No,” Derek breathes out, reopening his eyes.

Stiles couldn’t say for how long they stay there, barely apart, gazing into each other’s eyes, breathing into each other’s mouth. Seconds? Minutes? But they must have been leaning forward, because after a moment there’s no space between them anymore. Derek’s lips are warm and dry, so Stiles licks them to make them softer, more slippery. Derek sucks on Stiles’s upper lip, one hand grabbing his neck to keep him in place and the other tugging on his shirt to flush their bodies together.

Stiles moans into the kiss, parts his lips to let Derek’s tongue slide in. Derek kisses like he does everything: with serious and a touch of aggression. And Stiles loves it. He doesn’t have that much kissing experience, but he kisses back with uncoordinated enthusiasm, and judging by the way Derek’s grip on his neck tightens, his nails scraping Stiles’s scalp, he must be doing okay.

When they part for air, Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’s, panting. He’s smiling though, _really_ smiling, and that’s something Stiles has never seen before. Something he wants to see more often, all the time even, because it lights up Derek’s face, softening his features, and makes him look much younger.

“So, that huge black monster that saved us all on Saturday, what was that?” Stiles asks, then silently curses his mouth for not knowing when to just shut up and enjoy the moment.

Derek laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers along Stiles’s spine.

“That was Peter. He’s our Alpha, so he can take a form closer to a wolf if he wants to. It usually means he’s very pissed off.”

“Oh. Okay then. How about a movie, and maybe dinner?”

Derek stares at him, shakes his head, bemused.

“The way your brain works is a mystery to me.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Stiles smiles. “So, are we going out tonight or not?”

“As you wish,” Derek says, leaning forward to capture his lips again.

When they get out of the back office twenty minutes later, Stiles is all too aware of the conspicuous hickey on his neck. Laura doesn’t say anything, she just smiles brightly at them, almost like she’s proud of them or something. It makes Stiles blush furiously.

***

Chris had come to check on how Peter was doing after the whole thing at the bank. He’s not quite sure how ended up pressed against a wall with an Alpha werewolf devouring his mouth and sliding long, deft fingers under his shirt. It involved Peter being all smiles and charm and noticing the way Chris’s eyes roamed over him, he thinks. And also a conversation full of double-entendres. And Chris not saying anything when Peter’s hand landed on his knee, or slid up on his thigh. Okay, maybe he knows a little bit how they ended there.

This is crazy, and if his father knew, he’d probably come all the way from wherever he’s currently hunting to threaten to kill him. And probably kill Peter too, for good measures. But Chris stopped caring about his father’s opinion of him when he took Kate’s side after they found out she was behind the fire.

Peter’s mouth moves to Chris’s neck, and when he scrapes (thankfully human) teeth against his skin a soft moan escapes Chris’s mouth. He can feel Peter smile, and he knows that if they don’t stop now this is gonna get out of hand quickly.

“Peter...” he tries to complain, but it sounds more like encouragement.

“I like it when you say my name like this,” Peter replies before pinching one of his nipples.

Chris arches up into the touch. He grabs Peter’s waist and pulls him closer, parts his legs a little more so that the werewolf can fit between them. Peter laughs, moves to lick his ear, and how did the bastard even know this was one of Chris’s hot spots?

“The kids are back,” Peter whispers in his ear before playfully nipping the lobe and step back.

Chris looks at him bewildered, wondering what he’s talking about. Then he hears the front door open and rapidly straightens his shirt where Peter has made a mess of it. Peter is calmly grabbing a cup of probably cold tea when Derek and Laura walk into the living room. Chris tries to look collected and inconspicuous, but he can see them both scenting the air.

Derek visibly grits his teeth, his jaw tightening even more than Chris thought physically possible.

“I’m not staying for dinner,” he says, then walks out of the room.

Laura grins, and Peter raises an eyebrow at her.

“He has a date,” she says happily. Her expression sobers up when she continues. “I don’t know what’s happening her, or rather I don’t want to think about it, but we’ll have to talk about this. _However_ ,” and she smiles again, “right now I have to go and make sure my brother actually owns something else than a plain black shirt.”

She disappears after Derek, and Chris turns his attention back to Peter, who’s leaning against the back of the couch. The Alpha sips on his tea, then makes a face because of course it’s gone cold.

“So,” Peter asks as if they weren’t about to dry hump like a couple of teenagers two minutes ago, “what can you tell me about Stiles?”

“Stiles?” Chris frowns, then realization hits him. He glances at the door through which Derek and Laura had disappeared. “Oh.” And then, suspicious, “Peter, he’s the sheriff’s kid.”

“You’re the one who told me I should expand my pack,” Peter says, nonchalant.

“The sheriff’s kid,” Chris says again. “And you don’t even know if they’re going to last.”

“I know it’s the first time Derek’s taking a chance since your dear sister,” Peter says, putting his cup back on the coffee table. “And I’m not an idiot. I’m not going to offer him the bite right away. I’m just curious to know if he’d be a good option.”

“He’s a good kid,” Chris replies, feeling uncomfortable hearing Peter pronounce his sister’s name. He averts his eyes. “He’s easily distracted though, and he rarely shuts up. From what Allison tells me, he’s not very good with authority, but he’s been doing well at the Bullet, so...”

Chris shrugs. He really doesn’t know Stiles that well. When he looks back at Peter, the werewolf is staring at him with a crooked smile.

“How can you look at me and not see her?” Chris asks, because it’s been on his mind for _years_ , every time he accidentally bumps into Peter somewhere around time, every time Peter stops by the Bullet to buy coffee.

“I remember the look on your face at her trial,” Peter shrugs, but his fingers are gripping the couch’s armrest tight. “I remember the anger, the disgust and the sadness. But just so we’re clear. If ever your sister escapes from jail, I will track her down and break her neck with my own hands”

“I understand,” Chris says. He thinks that if Kate gets out, he might help him.

***

Derek is half expecting the sheriff to greet him with a gun in hand and threats about how he better not hurt his son. But Stiles’s father just smiles at him and invites him in.

“Stiles, Derek is here!” he calls up the staircase before turning back to Derek. “So, how’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine, thank you,” Derek replies politely, standing awkwardly in the hall. “It was just a scratch.”

Stiles runs down the stairs and stops on the bottom step, looking Derek up and down with a wide smile.

“I didn’t know you could look even better!” he exclaims. “Color suits you.”

Derek resists the urge to tug on the hem of the forest green shirt Laura pulled out from the back of his closet, and smiles hesitantly at Stiles.

“You look good too,” he says softly. 

He means it. Stiles is wearing a red t-shirt that clings to his chest in a way his usual too-large shirts never do, his cheeks are lightly flushed, probably from the excitement he’s visibly thrumming with, and there’s a glint in his eyes when he looks at Derek that squeezes something in his chest, in a good way.

Stiles waves his hand dismissively, like he doesn’t really believe him, but his smile turns shy and pleased.

“All right kids, I have to go to work, so have fun tonight,” the sheriff says, grabbing his keys from a bowl next to the door. “Oh, and if one of these days you need it, there are condoms in the bathroom, bottom drawer.”

“Dad!” Stiles whines, mortified.

“I’m just saying!”

“I’m not a kid anymore, we don’t have to have that conversation again,” Stiles complains, hiding his face against Derek’s shoulder. 

Despite his surprise, Derek can’t help but feel a little bit amused. He nods at the sheriff, who opens the door. Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’s shoulders and steers him outside. The sheriff waves at them before getting into his car, and Derek leads Stiles to where he’s parked his Camaro.

“I’m sorry about Dad,” Stiles says as he slips into the passenger seat.

“That’s okay,” Derek smiles. “My uncle will probably be even _less_ subtle.” He puts the key in the ignition. “Your father doesn’t mind? That I’m older than you, I mean.”

“Nah,” Stiles says. “I think he accepted a long time ago that I couldn’t do anything like normal people. Besides, I’ll be eighteen next month.”

He leans towards Derek and kisses him, a small, affectionate brush of lips. Derek grunts, grabs his neck and pulls him into another kiss. This one lasts much, _much_ longer.

The plan had been dinner and a movie, but they make it so late to the restaurant that they skip the movie altogether. Neither of them regrets anything.


End file.
